If Morning Never Comes - Episode Thirty
In Which: Charles Hits the Wall
Editor’s Note:
Welcome back to “If Morning Never Comes,” a serial adventure of gothic peril from
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Charles had taken a horse from Ashwood’s stables, and now it trotted him down the road as the afternoon grew late. Herr Stryker once told him that he was not very good at feeling. He had been rather offended at the time, and tried to gin up some indignation at the insinuation. But now, as he did his best to think through what had just transpired between him and his mother, he was inclined to agree with him.
Once he was clear of the house, his anger subsided to a throb. How could his mother be so blind? She cared for no one but herself, and the rest of them just let her get away with it. And now Eleanor was in danger. When he thought of her, his anger was replaced with fear for his sister. Fear for them all. Had she been attacked by Edgar Raines? Was he trying to turn her into another one of his brides? The thought was too terrible to consider. But the longer he did so, the more he realized how helpless he was. Short of telling his mother – not an option – he could see no way to stop him. And yet he had to try. The horse trotted on.
With every bounce he wished Herr Stryker was there. He would know what to do. Or would he? The man had shown himself willing to take a truly cold-hearted amount of damage before he retaliated. Would he try to convince Charles to let his sister die? But if they did that, there would be three vampires, and that was something Stryker surely would not countenance. Of course, in Charles’ mind that did not change the ultimate goal, though it became exponentially more complicated. Stopping Raines would free his brides, so that was what they needed to do. Charles sighed. He was stuck where he always stalled. To act or to wait. He could not think about it for another minute.
Somewhere in his wanderings he decided to visit Miss Tarrant. There was nowhere else for him to go, and he needed to see her. He would have to apologize for ignoring her for so long, but he hoped that once she heard about the situation with his family, she would understand. He stopped in front of her house and led his horse by the reins. He had thought many times of telling her what he and Stryker were up to, at least in broad terms, but the old man refused to hear of it. Charles knocked on the door.
Old Peter came to the door. That was unusual, Peter was usually hard at work by now. But Charles greeted him politely.
“I ain’t seen you for some time, Master Ashley,” the Irishman growled.
“Delighted to see you again, too, Peter,” said Charles. “Is Miss Tarrant in?”
Peter grunted and turned back into the house, leaving the door open. Charles stepped inside and removed his hat. A moment later Peter came back down the stairs.
“She’ll be done in half a moment. I’ll see to your horse.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“Don’t go upstairs.”
Charles cocked his head, “Alright, then.”
As he waited in the sitting room listening to the clock tick, Charles grew more apprehensive. He remembered their disagreement at the ball. She had said not to worry, so he supposed he should not. Besides, if anyone had cause to be upset, it was him, not her. But he had put it behind him, so things should be fine on that score. A wave of emotion flooded him as he thought afresh of what was going on at Ashwood. He bounced his knee.
He waited until the clock struck the quarter-hour, but still there was no sign of Jenny. She had never kept him waiting before. He stood when he heard her descending the stairs at her stately pace. He picked up his hat, hoping that the phrase, “hat in hand”, might blunt whatever anger she might be harboring. He saw her feet first as they moved just ahead of the hem of her dress. She glided to the doorway, not meeting his eyes.
“Hello Charles,” she said.
Charles sighed in his soul. A happy reunion it was not to be. But his brow furrowed as he looked closer. Jenny looked worn out. Her dress was not neatly pressed and clean as always. And she wore her apron – she always took off the apron when company came. Her hair was barely held together by what looked like yesterday’s attempt to style it. When she looked up, her eyes were framed by dark, sleepless circles.
He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to, “Jenny, are you alright?”
She dropped her shoulders, the formalities set aside. She walked to the sofa and sat down, leaning on her elbows over her lap. All she said was, “No.”
This was uncharted territory for Charles. He sat next to her, back straight. A small annoyance niggled the back of his mind. He ignored it.
“Jenny, what’s wrong?”
She did not answer. She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Jenny?”
She sat up and tried to smile. “It’s nothing Charles. I’m just being silly. How have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”
Charles froze for a moment. He wondered if she was intentionally using the same words she had said at the ball. He chose to move on.
“I’m very sorry about not writing, Jenny. I would have, only...” he paused for effect. “Eleanor is very sick. I’m concerned for her.”
Jenny wore a sympathetic face, “I’m so sorry, Charles.”
That was not like her. She seemed uninterested. The niggle in his mind tried to push its way to the forefront. He pushed it back again.
“And Mother, well – we had another quarrel this morning, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
“That’s terrible, Charles.”
She looked as though she were making a sincere effort to care. The fact that she needed to do so rankled Charles. It told him that she did not really care, or she would not have to try and fake it. Clearly there was something on her mind that she wanted to discuss first. That rankled him as well. Did he have to earn his right to be heard now?
He kept his temper and changed tactics, “Jenny, is everything alright? You look as though you haven’t slept.”
She lifted a hand to her hair and tucked some of it behind her ear. “I’m fine, Charles. Really. It’s nothing.”
“Well, which is it?” he thought, “Are you fine or is it nothing?”
“You can tell me, Jenny,” he coaxed.
She said nothing.
He decided to get it out of the way, he was tired of this game. “Are you upset because I haven’t written? Because I wanted to Jenny, really I did. But Herr Stryker’s gone out of town, and...” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence without revealing the Hunt. “And there’s just been so much to do. I haven’t been sleeping well myself.”
She blinked. She was reacting slowly today, nothing like her usual spirit. “I haven’t given it a second thought. I know you get busy.”
Charles wanted to chase down the hidden meanings that were obviously layered in that sentence, but chose not to.
“That’s a relief to me, Jenny. And truly, I am sorry.”
She said nothing, then gave a half smile.
Charles felt his patience strain, “Jenny, what is going on? You’re clearly upset.”
“No, Charles I’m–“
“Please don’t lie to me Jenny,” he interrupted. “It’s been a rather trying day.”
Jenny’s chin wrinkled. Charles fought the urge to sigh aloud. The tears were coming.
“Jenny, please don’t cry. I’m not angry.”
She burst into tears. Her eyes were tight shut, and her teeth were showing in a tragic sort of grin as she tried to hold back the sobs. Her head bobbed up and down as her body shook. Every few seconds she breathed in loudly.
Charles wanted to console her, but he had just about had enough of hysterical women for one day, and chose to wait it out. But when she broke down and sobbed into her apron, he put a hand on her back.
“It’s alright, Jenny.”
She sobbed and leaned against him.
“It’s alright.” He waited until she quieted some, “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
She spoke with a tearful strain on her voice, “It’s Father.”
“Your father?”
She nodded.
“Has he gotten worse?”
“Worse than ever,” she wept.
Charles tried to help her sit up and calm down. “I’m very sorry.”
She nodded and wiped the corners of her eyes. “I’ve needed you so badly, Charles. Just to have someone to talk to. You understand, don’t you?”
Charles set his jaw. He needed to talk to her, too. He had been trying to since he walked in the door. And yet here they were discussing her problems. Again. Was he just another servant to her? An emotional butler?
“I understand, Jenny. If it makes you feel any better, Mother doesn’t want me coming home to Ashwood anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Jenny stiffened and sniffed. Her eyes simmered like the last coal of a campfire. “I’m sure you’ll be fine with Herr Stryker,” she said in staccato tones.
Charles raised his eyebrows, “I beg your pardon?”
“Why on earth would that make me feel better, Charles? Are you incapable of listening to me for more than a single minute before making it all about yourself again?”
“Jenny, what–? I’m sympathizing with you!”
“You want to sympathize with me? Well then, let me tell you all about how we had to sell more of Mother’s old things to pay for Father’s medicine. Or how his brother can’t help us because he’s about to be taken to debtor’s prison, and we’re not far behind him. Does that cause you to sympathize, Charles? You know, the carriage is damaged, and Peter says we can either afford to fix it or feed the horse, not both. And you’re right, I haven’t slept properly for weeks. I’m afraid to fall asleep because my nightmares are too terrible, and they frighten me so much that I call out and wake up Father, and then I have to take care of him in the middle of the night.”
“Jenny, this isn’t like you. You’re being hysterical!”
She was crying again, “And you haven’t written me in a month, Charles.”
“I told you, I’m taking care of the cottage while Herr Stryker is gone. And now my sister is on death’s doorstep, and my own mother won’t have me in my own house because when I tried to talk to her about Eleanor, she made it all about herself.”
“Well, it seems we know where you get it from, then.”
That insult struck someplace deep within Charles. He said nothing. Jenny met his eyes, but he watched them immediately tear up as she realized what she’d done.
“Oh Charles, you know I didn’t mean that.”
Charles stood and picked up his hat. “Good evening, Miss Tarrant.”
She stood to follow him, “Charles, please don’t go. Please!”
He opened the door, “I have been treated this way by everyone I have ever known. I won’t stand for it from you.”
“Charles, I was just angry. Please, I want you to stay. Charles!”
Her last call of his name was muffled after he shut the door.
Back at Ashwood, Charles quietly eased into the kitchen. He snuck through to the main foyer and stood still. Soon, he heard the voice he was waiting for,
“We’ll need to bring in more firewood. With the Mistress keeping the house so dark, we’re burning more of it than we’re wont to.”
“Yes sir,” came the reply.
“Tom!” hissed Charles.
Tom turned from the young man he was instructing and opened his eyes wide at the sight of Charles. He sent the lad on his way and came over.
“Master Ashley, I thought you had left?”
“I’m back. Listen, Tom – you’re still my valet, right?”
“Well, yes, I suppose. But since you’ve been away, John has seen fit to expand the purview of my–“
“Great, let’s go.”
“Go?”
“Yeah, go into town like we used to. See the show, have a few drinks?”
Tom shifted his feet. “Master Ashley, I’m not sure–“
“Oh, come off it, Tom. It’s been too long, I need a night out. You’re my valet, and I order you to come with me.”
Tom glanced at the doorway and swallowed. “Charles, I can’t just leave.”
“Why not? Of course you can.”
“I’ve got responsibilities here now.”
“We’ve all got responsibilities. Just one night, come on.”
Tom sighed, “No, Charles.”
“Tom!”
“No!” he whispered, but he was serious. “I can’t go with you, Charles. Not anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
Tom looked ready to change his mind. But he shook his head. “One of us has to grow up, Charles.” He grasped Charles’ shoulder and went back to his duties.
Charles stared after him for a moment. He sniffed a single snigger. Then he began to chuckle, smiling and grinning. It built into a full, hysterical laugh as he thought of everything that had happened that day. Two female cooks made as if to storm into the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway when they saw who it was. Charles was bent over his knees in stitches.
He waved in the direction his valet had gone, “I never thought I’d see the day when that rascal would make good. Eh?”
The poor cooks had nothing to say.
“Hey!” said Charles, stalking close to them. They cringed as he got closer. “Do you believe in vampires?”
They shared a glance and tried to back away.
“No, come on. I want to know, do you?” said Charles leaning on the doorframe. “They’re real, you know? They come at night and suck the blood right out of your neck!”
The two ladies squealed and scampered off. Charles laughed again and shook his head. He replaced his hat. “Good night to you all!” he shouted. He opened the door. “If you can’t find me later, I’ve probably been eaten.”
